


Alternative Relaxation Techniques

by akelios



Series: Fueled By Coffee and Spite [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Nipple Play, Restraints, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Voyeurism, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: Tim isn't great at taking care of himself, especially when he's hunting for proof that Bruce is still alive.Ra's has interesting ideas regarding what to do about that.Tim really had no idea what he was getting himself into when he agreed to work with Ra's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I say this every time, but I'm going to hell. 
> 
> I love Tim Drake. I love Ra's al Ghul. I'm a terrible person and so I love them together in deeply wrong ways. 
> 
> Set during the period where Tim is still 'working' for Ra's in the comics, with so many liberties taken it's not even funny. 
> 
> The underage sex tag is used because Tim is technically still a minor at this point in comics canon. 
> 
> Beta'd, as always, by forestgreen, who is the best. All remaining mistakes and the smut upon my soul are mine alone.
> 
> If I've missed tagging anything, let me know.
> 
> *drops porn off and runs*

“You’re becoming careless, Detective.”

The voice is smooth, accentless. It echoes in Tim’s ear and he reaches up, smacks his hand into something hard before he can get very far. Tim frowns, opens eyes he can’t remember closing. 

He’s on the floor of the hotel bathroom, wedged half between the shower and the toilet. Tim sighs and even that hurts his throat. He pushes himself up, slowly, in case he’s more hurt than he can feel, and coughs.

Smoke. There had been an explosion at the mansion he’d been burgling. Well. More of an explosion than he’d anticipated. He might have miscalculated a little. 

The night comes back to him slowly, a half speed film under the soundtrack of his ears ringing. There hadn’t been a lot of traffic, thankfully, or he’s pretty sure he would have crashed long before he reached the hotel. He vaguely remembers staggering to the bathroom, sitting down for a second to let a wave of dizziness pass before he got in the shower. 

He must have fallen asleep. 

It always sounds so much better than ‘passed out’.

“Detective.” Ra’s. In his ear the damned earpiece hums softly, white noise that Tim has had far too much time to grow accustomed to. 

“Not dead. Keep your pants on.” Tim’s voice sounds like gravel. He remembers the first time he’d gotten the cape tangled, nearly choked himself out before hitting the emergency release. He’d sounded sort of like this for a day and a half, had been convinced he’d start spitting blood any minute. 

Ra’s laughs, a low chuckle and there’s the faint sound of china clinking, the familiar image of Ra’s sipping his tea at his desk flashing through Tim’s mind. Ra’s soft sigh of pleasure sends shivers over Tim’s skin. 

“Given our distance, I assure you I remain fully clothed.” The sharp clack of keys. Ra’s was an angry typist, which was information that was as useless as it was amusing. “Perhaps you might consider ending this particular excursion sooner rather than later. A return to the Cradle seems to be warranted.”

“I have what I need here, but it’s only half of the diary. Apparently they sold some of the pages to a collector about a decade ago. I need to head to Minsk in the morning.” Tim glances at himself in the mirror, there’s a cut across one cheekbone, nothing to be worried about. Shrapnel, most likely. He puts his back to the camera he knows about, the one high up behind the light fixture and strips, taking stock of the new bruises and scrapes as he goes. 

“Hmmm.” Ra’s is making pleased sounds through the line and Tim knows they’re on purpose. Knows Ra’s is watching for the reactions Tim can’t help, the instinctive twitch of his hips, the faint flush that washes down his neck. Tim doesn’t need much effort to picture Ra’s leaning back in his chair, eyes dark. One hand curled beneath his chin, the fingers of the other playing in the fabric of his cape. “You’ll come back to the Cradle in the morning.”

Tim takes the earbud out and sets it on the bathroom counter as he turns the shower on. There’s a momentary urge to smash it, flush the pieces down the toilet. But there would just be another one on the night stand by the time Tim got out of the shower so he leaves it be.

It’s a good hotel and the water is running near scalding hot in only a few minutes. Tim steps in and holds himself still through the first instinctive flinch at the extreme heat. He breathes, deliberate and slow, and allows the heat to build, the warmth to seep into his bones. Muscles, tense for what feels like his entire life, start to relax and Tim just leans into the wall, lets the water wash away blood and grime. 

Eventually he moves, slow and creaking, and scrubs himself clean, the soap stinging in a dozen cuts Tim had barely registered until that point. He scrubs and rinses until he can’t smell fire any longer, until there is only the faintly pepperminty scent of the hotel soap. There’s a sound, out in the room, only half heard under the rush of the water. 

Tim tenses, begins to crouch, to reach for his armor and the weapons on his belt. 

“We come in peace!” Owens. 

Tim sighs and turns the water off. He grabs a towel and wraps it around himself, snatching up the earpiece as he goes, leaving it clenched in his fist. 

“Go to your own room, I have work to do.” He slaps the earbud on the night stand and waves one hand toward the connecting door.

Owens grins and takes a drink from the beer sitting on the table beside him. Z is lounging on the bed, fiddling with his phone. He smiles at Tim when he turns to glance in his direction, flicking the screen off.

“Nope.” Z rises, comes to stand next to Tim and there’s something, something in the way he’s standing that makes the hair rise on the back of Tim’s neck. He starts to step away from Z, a half formed thought about putting on some pants flitting through his brain and then Z is holding onto his arms, fingers slipping over still damp skin. “Boss says you need a break.” 

“Ra’s-” Tim is cut off, Z’s mouth on his. It’s a swift kiss, more of a graze of their lips but it’s enough to derail Tim’s thoughts for a second, long enough for Owens to come up behind Tim. The towel slips, falls, and Owens’ hands are there, on his hips, a press of skin on skin, followed by the drag of cloth. 

Tim’s breath hisses out from between his teeth and he leans forward, half out of instinct, to follow Z as he breaks the kiss, laughter in his eyes. Owens arms curl around Tim’s waist, breath hot in his ear, with a murmured, “Well now, what’s this?” 

One arm tightens around Tim’s waist, Owens palms Tim’s cock, calloused fingers dancing carefully over the soft flesh, teasing and testing. Tim tries to roll his hips away, but Owens is right behind him, trapping him.

Z’s hands slide down Tim’s arms to wrap around his wrists and before Tim can do much more than gasp in a breath, something is cinched tightly around his wrists beneath Z’s grip. Z takes a step back and Tim starts to reach out for him, only to find he can’t. 

“What-” Tim looks down, a movement that feels like it takes forever, to see that the other two have managed to fasten a familiar heavy leather belt around him, and to cuff his hands to it. “Dammit. Z, this isn’t funny. I don’t have time for this.”

“Not funny at all.” Owens is still behind him, hands running over the scarred skin of Tim’s back.

Z circles around them and Tim tries to turn, to keep Z in sight but Owens stops him, wraps his fingers around the top of the belt and tugs Tim into his body. Tim stumbles, hands twisting, fingers reaching for the clasps just out of reach. Z returns, smiling, and starts to slide the earbud back in. Tim snarls, tries to jerk his head away, but Z just huffs out a laugh and settles the tiny piece into place. 

“You need to relax, Timothy.” 

Tim is only half certain that he’s managed to clear all the cameras out of the bedroom itself. He’s less sure when Ra’s uses the tone he knows sends a wave of _want_ through Tim’s body. His lips curl in a sneer and he shakes his head, trying to ignore the way his legs go weak. 

“I’ll come back to the Cradle in a couple of days. Tell Z to let me go.” 

Z smiles as he walks back to the table, picking up the beer that Owens had abandoned.

“I think not.” There’s a deeper purr to Ra’s voice, the hint of an accent that is impossible to place. “You need rest, you need sleep. I would prefer to take care of you personally, Timothy. Still, the world is as it is and we must make do.” Another laugh. “And after all, my hands are there for my use.” 

“I don’t have time for this. I really don’t.” Tim squirms, fingers just brushing the edge of the clasp. He can’t reach it, not properly, he knows this as well as he knows anything else. He still tries, every single time. It’s part of the reason he thinks Ra’s enjoys this particular piece quite so much.

“Must I remind you of our agreement?” There’s a rustle of paper, just for show, because that’s the kind of melodrama Ra’s enjoys, and the polite clearing of Ra’s throat through the line. 

“No.” Tim sighs. Owens drops to his knees behind Tim, he can feel the soft exhalations of Owens’ breath against the curve of his ass. Z is leaning against the table, sipping from his stolen beer. The lights from outside cast a faintly green shade to his dark skin and Tim closes his eyes against the wonder of what it would taste like to lick beer off of his stomach. 

“Excellent.” A faint click, the sudden buzz of an empty line. Tim opens his eyes in time to watch Z nodding his head in acknowledgement, beer resting against his thigh as he presses his own earbud in more tightly. The smile Z sends his way is...wicked. 

He walks over to Tim, beer still in hand. Owens licks across the backs of Tim’s thighs, hands pushing, urging his legs wider. Tim’s only half surprised to feel the brush of dry fingers across his entrance, followed by the quick heat of a tongue. 

“What’s your word?”

Tim blinks, frowns. “I don’t use one. With Ra’s.”

“I am my Master’s hand, but I am not my Master.” Z takes a sip of the beer, more of an excuse to wet his lips, to roll the sweating bottle around in his hands. “I wouldn’t presume to touch what is his without permission. And I’m going to need a safety.”

“Um.” Tim casts about, tries to think of something but then Owens’ teeth are sinking into the inner curve of his thigh and he’s gasping, cock finally starting to take an interest. Owens chuckles against his skin and bites again, a bit higher. Tim can feel his hair brushing teasingly over his balls.

Tim shivers, reaches for Owens and is brought up short again, hands jerking uselessly against his restraints. Owens flicks the tip of his tongue against the base of Tim’s cock, hands spreading Tim’s legs wider to give him better access.

“Shi-” Tim stutters, swallows hard. 

“Christ, let the man think Owens.” Z kicks forward gently, nudging at Tim’s ankle with one boot. 

“Sorry.” There’s not a trace of repentance in Owens’ voice.

“Shiva.” A flash of smooth skin in the dark, a whisper, _little bird, little **knife**_. Deadly strength pinning him to the ground. “Wait. No. Tengu.” 

“Tengu. You sure?”

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause, Z tilts his head, listening. Another nod, and the smile vanishes. Tim can still see it in his eyes, however, in the easy glide of his steps as he closes the scant distance remaining. 

“Finish this.” Z holds the beer to Tim’s lips and Tim tilts his head with it, swallows quickly, steadily. There’s more than he’d thought, most of the beer in fact and by the time it’s gone he’s taking in a long gasp, stomach fluttering a little. Just a beer, but it’s been half a day since Tim’s eaten and he can feel the alcohol hit him. 

“Good boy.” Z leans in, kisses Tim again. There’s something sweet on this tongue, beneath the beer. Z’s been hanging out in the patisserie across the street again. Good food, cute waitstaff. 

Great sight lines from the upper floors. 

Z’s always been a better multi-tasker than Owens, or God forbid, Pru. Tim wonders where Pru is, if she’s following the last couple of leads Tim had given her or killing someone for the League. Or...does she have hobbies? Tim’s brain flicks to a picture of Pru knitting and he snorts. She’d knit gun cozies, maybe. Needlepoint a doily with her favorite kills.

“Hey.” Sharp pinches to his nipples, one after the other and Tim is hissing, eyes snapping back into focus on Z’s face. Z presses the still cold bottle to Tim’s chest, rolls it slowly over his aching buds. Tim controls the shiver that wants to work its way up his spine. “Think that’s what the Boss meant, Tim. You zoned out on me there.” 

Owens is licking his way up the back of Tim’s thigh, fingers kneading the muscles of his ass, pausing to leave the occasional nip at sensitive skin. 

“Timothy’s mind is always moving, my hand. He requires...special efforts in order to get him in the proper frame of mind.” Ra’s, back in his ear. Tim can’t repress the shiver this time, gets a dark purr through the radio for his trouble. He definitely missed some cameras in his last sweep. “Do you remember, Timothy, our time together after Beijing? The close embrace of the rope, the press of each knot, tightening as you struggled?” 

Tim groans as Owens presses a knuckle in just behind his balls, the pressure a flash of what it had been like that night, the strain of his limbs folded up and bound out of the way, leaving him on the carpet, nothing but a toy for Ra’s pleasure. That had been the night…

“You begged quite exquisitely, after I gave you the ginger.” Ra’s sighs, voice deep, pleased. 

Tim yelps and whimpers at the liquid hot push of Owens’ tongue against his entrance, followed by a single finger, wet now and pressing in in spite of Tim clenching against the memory of the ginger, wide and carved into knobs. He hadn’t just begged, he’d screamed, he’d pleaded for more, for Ra’s to fuck him with it. 

Ra’s pulling the root out to fuck him while he still burned had been a relief and a torment.

“Don’t think we have any ginger on hand, sir.” Z curls cool fingers around Tim’s cock, hard and twitching between his legs. The cold is a shock, tearing Tim between wanting to pull away and thrusting forward as Z begins to stroke him slowly, rolling his fingers over the head where Tim has begun to leak precum, before slicking it back down Tim’s length. 

Tim bites down on a groan and jerks his hips forward against Z’s grip, twisting his hands around in the cuffs. He can feel the leather give, almost hear the creak of it as he strains against it, fighting for the freedom to touch.

The leather holds. 

It always does.

“No.” Ra’s tone is icy, harsh for a mere second before it mellows back down into his deep purr. “I trust you will make do with what you have.” The line clicks off again, leaving nothing but the soft staticky hum in Tim’s ear. 

Z’s hand tightens around Tim’s cock, almost painfully. He leans into Tim and bites down on his neck, his collarbone. Tim jerks in his grasp, a breathless moan slipping out as he throws his head back, gives Z more room to work. Owens presses a second finger in, twisting and spreading them inside of Tim’s body. 

“I think we should take this to the bed, guys.” Owens, against Tim’s thigh, before he licks a stripe across Tim’s balls, takes one into his mouth and sucks, scrapes his teeth lightly along Tim’s sac. “Unless you want to fuck him on the floor, Z. I mean, whatever, but beds are nice and cushy.”

Tim finds himself lifted, Z’s hands on the backs of his thighs and there’s a moment of dizziness, unable to use his hands to steady himself on Z’s shoulders. He wraps his legs around Z and curls in, his cock rubbing over the soft fabric of Z’s t-shirt where it’s riding up over his stomach. Tim twists his hips and rocks, the feeling a perfect, gentle tease over hot flesh. 

“Did I say you could do that?” Z pinches the curve of Tim’s ass and drops him. There’s a second of freefall and then the bed, unbearably plush and soft, envelops him. 

Z looks down at Tim for a second, face half in shadow, and then there’s a blur of one hand, a none too gentle slap against the inside of Tim’s spread thighs. Z’s hand grazes the tip of Tim’s cock as he swings and Tim arches off of the bed at the pain, a gasping moan half muffled in the bedding as Tim turns his head away. Z laughs, does it again, against the other thigh. 

Again. 

Again. 

Tim writhes, crying out with the pain, with the quick pulse of need that is building inside of him with each blow, the anticipation of the next and the next. He bites at the comforter that surrounds him, trying to muffle his cries, hide his face.

“Owens.” Z’s voice is rough, dark with desire. The comforter is pulled away from Tim’s face, pried out of his teeth and then Owens is on the bed with him, kneeling beside his head. He takes hold of Tim and turns him to face Z. 

Z has taken off his shirt at some point, leaving him only in jeans, dark skin criss crossed with nearly as many scars as Tim’s own, the fresh pucker of the bullet wound that had almost killed him when they’d met standing out against the patchwork of older mistakes. Tim closes his eyes against the sight. 

“Keep your eyes on me, Tim.” 

Tim tries to turn his head against Owens’ grip, doesn’t open his eyes. 

“Tim.” A long beat, filled only with their mingled breathing. “I will whip you if you don’t open your eyes.” The hiss of Z’s belt, being pulled loose from his jeans. “Come on. I know you can be better than this.” 

Tim snorts, twists against Owens’ grip. 

“Have it your way. Owens.” 

The press of Owens’ hands is gone, and then Tim feels the bed dip, the pressure of knees digging lightly into his sides. Owens is kneeling over him, jeans harsh where the fabric rubs against over sensitized skin. He takes hold of Tim’s legs and pulls them up, arms crooked behind Tim’s knees to hold him in place. 

The first blow is a surprise, no matter that Tim knows that it’s coming. He shouts, curses, and kicks, trying to get his legs free. Owens tightens his grip and settles some of his weight onto Tim, holding him down. Z lays the belt across the exposed curve of Tim’s ass freely, swiftly. There’s a sharp snap right before each blow strikes, and Tim flinches before each one, crying out as the blows began to fall one on top of the other, his skin heating up, tightening. 

Tim doesn’t know how many times the belt falls, he wasn’t asked to keep count, he didn’t bother to try. All he knows is that when Z stops he taps the side of Tim’s leg and Tim opens his eyes, looks at him through a sheen of tears as he lays the belt down beside Tim’s hip. Owens slides off of Tim and rolls off the bed entirely. Tim can see him out of the corner of his eye, stripping quickly. 

“You don’t get to look away, okay? And if I wanted you to be quiet I’d gag you. Let me hear you scream, Tim. You understand?”

Tim nods, his hips working against the bed, feeling every inch of swollen and bruising flesh. 

“Say yes if you mean it. And stop that.” Z takes hold of Tim’s balls and squeezes, a burst of pain that drives the breath out of him. 

“Y-yes.” When he can breathe again. 

Z strokes his fingers over the tender flesh of Tim’s sac, soothing the hurt he had just caused. “Good. I like hearing you like this.” He reaches up with his free hand, rolls one nipple beneath his fingers before pinching it, twisting. Tim starts to bite back on the yelp, but Z twists harder, his other hand slapping down onto Tim’s balls. Z pinches and twists at Tim’s other nipple, a smile curling across his face. Tim struggles to keep his eyes on Z, to not look away from the heat in his eyes, the slow path of sweat as it curls down from his temple, over his lips where Z licks it away thoughtlessly. 

Owens climbs back on the bed, slides down to Tim’s legs and pulls the closest one over his shoulder, spreading Tim wide. He presses two slicked fingers back to Tim’s entrance and pushes, not waiting for Tim to relax. It burns, the skin of his ass tight and painful already and Tim whimpers, his cock pulsing with pleasure. He wants to close his eyes, to revel in the feeling, but Z is idly flicking his short nails over Tim’s red and peaked nipples and Tim doesn’t want him to stop, half wishes Z would whip the belt across them. 

“Think maybe we need to start packing nipple clamps in our bags, Owens. The sharp ones.” Z raises his hand and slaps it down, first across one nipple and then then other. He returns to pinching, then slaps them again. Tim struggles to keep his eyes open, but the third or fourth time Z twists his hard, aching nubs his eyes start to roll back in his head. He’s arching his hips up off the bed, Owens fingers curling inside of him, just barely missing the spot that would bring Tim off like a firework. 

Z steps back, quick as thought and grabs the belt, bringing it down against the outside of Tim’s thigh. He does it four or five times, rapid, until the hits seem to blur into each other and Tim has his eyes open again, struggling to focus on Z.

“Please, Z, please, I need you- I can’t, I need-” Tim breaks off with a cry as Owens presses a third finger in, rolling Tim’s balls roughly in the grip of his other hand. Z steps out of his jeans, belt still in his hand. 

He’s hard, leaking already himself, and Tim wants little in that moment other than to get Z’s cock in his mouth. He imagines choking on it, trying to scream around the length of it as Z fucks his throat and Tim would be cuming if Owens hadn’t chosen that moment to clamp his hand roughly around the base of Tim’s cock and squeeze. 

“You need what I give you, nothing else.” The belt again, wrapping around his leg dangerously close to Tim’s throbbing cock and Owens’ head. A light lick of the belt across Tim’s stomach. “But tell me, what do you think you need?”

“Belt. M- nipples.” Tim presses his hips down, sending shocks of pain through him, each line from the belt a separate kiss of pleasure. 

“You want me to use this on your nippples?” Z holds the belt dangling over Tim’s face, close enough that when he licks his lips he gets a taste of leather and sweat. Tim nods, flushed and needy. Owens is spreading Tim wide, four fingers deep and Tim wonders if he’s going to try and get his whole hand inside of Tim, wonders what that will feel like. “Ask nicely.” Z lowers the belt until it’s actually touching Tim’s lips, so that it sends a shuddering thrill through him every time he gasps in a breath. 

“Whip my nipples, please.” Tim can’t get out much more than a whisper. 

“With what?” 

“Your belt, please, Z, please, whip my nipples with your belt.” Tim licks the belt where it lays against his mouth, sinks his teeth into it when Z starts to pull it away. He lets it go after a second, throwing his head back with another deep groan. 

Z says nothing and for a long moment Tim thinks he’s going to ignore him. Then Z’s hand is in his hair, tight enough to hurt and he gets no other warning before the belt whistles down snapping at his already aching chest. 

Tim screams, screams as it happens again, and he’s finally cumming, the first long pulse of release shooting through him before there’s a hard hand wrapped around his cock and he can’t stop, but he can’t cum, the feeling washing back through his body, frustrated. Owens continues to fuck Tim on his fingers through it, biting at the welts on Tim’s thighs where he can reach. 

“Jesus.” Owens presses forward and Tim can feel the width of his hand, the brush of his thumb against Tim’s stretched, eager hole. “I want to fuck him, Z. Make him ride me.” Owens pulls his fingers out slowly, fucks them back in in short little thrusts before doing it again. “How about it, want to fuck yourself on my cock, pretty?”

Tim starts to say yes, stops himself, looks to Z. Who smiles and brushes the hair out of Tim’s eyes. 

“See, I knew you could be a good boy.” Z drops the belt to the floor, climbs up on the bed with them. “Yeah, Owens. He wants to fuck himself silly on you. Suit up.” 

There’s a muffled ‘Yes!’ against Tim’s thigh and then Owens is rolling off the bed, fumbling through his pockets before jumping triumphantly back onto the bed. Z takes hold of Tim by the shoulders, urges him to sit up, then to rise to his knees. Tim’s shaking, cock bobbing freely between his spread legs as he waits. Z pets along his back, pinches at some of the welts on Tim’s ass when he reaches them, before sliding his fingers through the mess Owens has left behind, fingers slipping easily into Tim’s body. 

“Eager, aren’t we? You’re fucking dripping with it, aren’t you?” Z spreads his fingers, wide enough that Tim groans with the burn. Owens rolls a condom down over his cock and fists himself once, twice, before sliding between Tim’s spread legs. Z urges Tim down, until he can feel the head of Owens’ cock against him, barely breaching his entrance. “I don’t know if you’re going to fit, Owens. No matter how much he wants your cock.”

“I’ll fit, won’t I, Tim?” Owens’ hands are on his hips, fingers digging into more welts, and then he’s pulling, driving Tim down onto his cock. Z leans back, watches. Owens doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed, Tim panting out half screams of pain and pleasure as he rocks in Owens’ grip, trying to adjust. “See? He’s a sweet little fuck.” Owens reaches up and tweaks a nipple. “You just go ahead and fuck yourself, okay? Let me see how much you want it.”

Tim groans, drags in a deep breath and lifts himself. Slow, shaking. Tim clenches, tightens his stomach as he sways, unable to catch himself. His hands flex uselessly at his sides, desperate to touch Owens, to dig his fingers into the hard plane of his stomach and just ride him into bliss. 

He can feel the drag of Owens’ inside of him, the delicious stretch of his girth, holding Tim open. Tim rocks, rises inch by inch, doesn’t make it very far before Owens is pulling him back down, rocking his hips up to meet Tim. He does it again and again, every time Tim tries to get the movement he wants, get the pressure where he needs it. Until Tim is moving fast, fucking himself in short, sharp thrusts of his hips, up and down on Owens’ cock, groaning and begging for more, for someone to touch him. 

His cock bounces against his stomach with each thrust, leaking and messy with cum. Owens leans back, starts to reach for Tim’s cock and then Z is there, hand wrapped around Owens’ wrist. 

“No.” He turns, meets Tim’s eyes. “He can cum on our cocks. Nothing else.” Z leans into Tim, licks through the trails of sweat and tears covering Tim’s cheeks. “Understand? You don’t cum fucking us, you don’t get to cum. I’ll go get a cage, tuck you in nice and tight and give Ra’s the key. How long you think he’ll make you wait?”

“I can do it. I can.” Tim moans, twists his hips and drives himself down harder, faster. 

“Good boy. Good.” Z moves around behind Tim, hands soft and teasing up Tim’s sides. There’s a hesitation, a stutter in Tim’s rhythm as Owens’ hands are hard on his hips, holding him still. And then there’s Z, pressing in beside Owens, stretching Tim wider and wider.

He throws back his head and howls, the pleasure and pain blanking Tim’s mind for a few minutes. When he comes back to himself, Z is wrapped around his back, heavy and comforting as he rocks up into Tim, sliding back just in time for Owens to fuck up into Tim. 

Tim pushes up on his legs, shaky with need and rocks back down, trying to meet their rhythm, trying to get what he needs. Z and Owens’ hands meet, wrapping around Tim’s hips, moving him harder, faster. 

“Sweet boy, good boy.” Z’s voice in Tim’s ear, groans and praise and Tim is gasping for air, sobbing with need. He tugs uselessly against the cuffs, presses back harder into Z’s grip. It goes on forever, sweat slick bodies one against the other, groans and cries mingling until Tim loses track of where he ends and the others begin, until all there is is the need to cum. 

Tim feels the pulse of Owens going off inside of him, watches the man throw his head back and groan in bliss as Z fucks Tim through Owens’ orgasm, until he’s biting at Tim’s neck and cuming too. Tim sobs, feels them begin to slip out, to grow soft, and he tightens his muscles, rides them faster, desperately, until his orgasm explodes out of him, striping Owens’ chest. 

When it’s over, Tim collapses, curling forward onto Owens’ chest with a gasp. Owens pets his hair, muttering something Tim can’t quite make sense of. There are fingers pressed to his mouth and Tim opens, takes them in and sucks. It comes to him slowly that he’s cleaning his own cum off of Owens’ fingers. 

Tim lays limp, exhausted, lets Owens and Z move him, lets them clean him up, settle him into the bed. He feels the world slipping away and forces his eyes back open, rattles the cuffs a little. 

“Z?” Tim looks up a Z, who smiles and taps one finger to the communicator still in his ear.

“Sir?”

“Tie his legs with your belt.” Ra’s, voice ragged, and Tim can’t think, can’t mind when Z nods and loops the belt around Tim’s ankles, tightening it until Tim has no room to move. Owens tucks the sheets around Tim, until he’s cocooned, warm and immobile. Z settles on one side of him, Owens on the other, pressing in tight to each side. “You will return to me tomorrow, Timothy.”

“Yes sir.” It’s thoughtless, muttered out on the edges of exhaustion. Tim’s eyes close to the pleased hum of Ra’s through the line.

“Good boy.”


End file.
